


soulful silhouettes

by Ambience (InStress_Panic)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Brief descriptions of the mess that was the Tragedy of Duscur, Depression, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd Needs a Hug, Dimitri's just sad and sometimes that fucks u up, Gen, Ghosts, Hopeful Ending, Mental Health Issues, POV Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Pre-Canon, Time Travel, also don't worry Dimitri's friends don't actually not-care about him, and blood, and that may not be your cup of tea, don't worry he'll get one, like the king being beheaded but that description is only brief, technically, wait guys theres brief descriptions of ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28779873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InStress_Panic/pseuds/Ambience
Summary: Dimitri has been seeing ghosts since he survived the Tragedy of Duscur. It's okay. He's fine. This is a small price to pay for surviving when everyone else didn't.And then one day, one of them answers back.He doesn't remember seeing him in their royal entourage on that horrifying day. Nor does he look like one of the perpetrators that had ambushed them.In fact, the ghost almost looks like Glenn.ORCF!Felix has regrets and haunts pre-canon Dimitri.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Brief descriptions of ghosts and blood and depression, yo. Some dissociation as well.
> 
> If you think I need to include more tags, tell me!

As what happens during most nights after the Tragedy of Duscur, Dimitri wakes up. He does so silently now, knowing better than to alarm the guards with his yelling as he claws his way out of the latest nightmare.

_ Real _ . He ignores the clawing of voices at the back of his head, the image of his stepmother standing at the corner of his vision. _This is real. You’re not there anymore._

The nightmare leaves Dimitri with blood on his tongue and a sting behind his eyes that he tries to ignore.

For a moment, he stares up at the canopy of his bed, mind blank, the dying screams still echoing in his ears. The memory of the nightmare lingers. The smell of burning meat, the taste of ashes, Glenn’s grip on his arm as he pulls Dimitri out of the broken carriage, hard enough to bruise.

He shudders, pushing himself off the bed and placing his feet on the floor. The night is dark. The room is darker. He blinks away the image of his father’s head rolling on the floor, too used to it to be terrified by now. A year since the Tragedy of Duscur, a year since the nightmares and the pitying eyes and the _voices—_

He knows he can’t go back to sleep now. He ignores the whispers in his head as he puts on his training gear. He walks silently past the servant’s room beside his own where Dedue sleeps, unwilling to wake up his friend again for _another_ nightmare.

Dedue already has enough to deal with. He doesn’t like to talk about it, and Dimitri doesn’t want to push, but even someone as lost in his head as Dimitri is can see the veiled disgust in other people’s eyes when Dedue walks past them.

Dedue doesn’t need more problems, but it seems problems are the only things Dimitri can give him these days. Just sleepless nights and endless worries. Even being around Dimitri’s presence courts trouble, malicious whispers following his friend every time they are seen together.

At some point, he knows even Dedue will lose patience with him. Sylvain and Ingrid already have. They’ve stopped sending letters when it was clear Dimitri could not make himself write back, though he hopes they’re alright. Felix hasn’t talked to him since the funeral, where Dimitri had been too lost in his own head to do more than stare blankly in the distance. He only has Dedue left. Best to delay losing him and enjoy Dedue’s company as much as he can.

He doesn’t want to drive away the only friend he has left.

The training grounds are silent when he enters, the castle guards far enough away that it gives him the illusion of privacy. He takes one of the practice lances and settles into a stance in the middle of the yard and starts going over his stances.

_ Jab. Swing. Spin. _

__

This is how he spends the nights in which the nightmares get too much. The stretch of his muscles and the quiet sounds of his lance jabbing through the air is enough to pretend that he can’t hear his father’s dying wheezes, see his stepmother’s accusing stares. It’s just easier to let his body flow and not think, falling into a trance until the world fades away except for the ache behind his eyes and the panting of his lungs.

_ Thrust. Pull. Sidestep.  _

__

That’s probably why it takes a while for Dimitri to notice he’s not alone. He can hear the sounds of someone fighting just a few meters behind him. The whistle of a sword slashing through the air, the crinkle of sand as someone goes through a kind of footwork.

Dimitri ends his practice bout and swings around, ready to greet whoever it is with a practiced smile, even though it’s terribly rude to just disturb someone in training, and in his – the crown prince’s – courtyard no less.

But there’s no one there.

He pauses, tensing.

The sounds come rushing back, and for a moment, he can see the back of someone taller than him, short dark hair held up in a ponytail and a half cape, its color is too dark to see, flowing as the man pivots on his feet and slashes at the air.

Dimitri catches the man’s solid dark eyes for a moment as he turns before the silhouette of him vanishes, leaving behind the faint smell of metal.

\--

Dimitri doesn’t recognize the ghost. He is well used to the ghosts that haunt him by now, his father, stepmother, and Glenn being his most constant companions. He knows other people had died during the Tragedy. Servants, guards, knights. Other Duscurians. The ghost must have been a hired mercenary. He hadn’t been wearing the usual armor of a Knight of Faerghus.

When he sees him again, he’s at the training grounds once more, going through a more advanced form of lancing.

“You’re leaning too far into your left,” a voice says, low and snapped into the silence like a whip. It sounds familiar. “Adjust your weight unless you want to be eating dirt after someone kicks you from behind.”

Dimitri nearly drops his lance, snapping around and trying to pinpoint the source. “Who’s there?”

No one answers.

He tilts his head. Listens. The sharp sound of whetstone against blade. The shuddering weight of a stare that he can’t see. The lilt of an accent that reminds him of summers spent in the Fraldarius Estate.

_ Glenn?  _ He almost asks, except the voice sounds far too old and mature to be his old friend.

“Who are you?” Dimitri asks, quieter. He settles the end of his lance on the ground, the weight of it a comfort. The smell of metal overwhelms the air. “Were you one of the knights? The hired mercenaries?”

A snort.

It’s enough to make him jump, looking around with eyes wide.

His ghosts have never responded to him before. Always lost in their mutterings no matter how much he begged for them to stop. To have one respond to him is—

New. A relief.

But also, terrifying.

Dimitri shivers. What will his ghosts ask of him now, when they can finally talk _back_?

“A mercenary, sure,” the voice says. The weight in the air shifts, the feeling of being watched moves with it, circling him. If Dimitri focuses, he can almost see the fur lined vest the ghost is wearing, stained a dark red. Not the smell of metal then. Of blood.

“May I ask for your name?” It’s only right to be polite. 

“No one important.”

“I do not believe that,” Dimitri says earnestly. “You died for—for me. There is value in that, even if I wish you had not.”

“Not for you,” the voice shoots back, the venom in it startling. Dimitri takes an involuntary step back. “I didn’t die for _you._ If I had, perhaps—” A sigh, a cold breeze that shivers through the air, a heaviness settling in Dimitri’s bones before it dissipates. “—no matter. I died for myself.”

“And that is just as important, is it not?” He sits down on the nearest training bench, laying his training lance on his lap. Rolling the shaft between his palms, he continues quietly. “In all honesty, I am glad you did not die for me. That is one less regret to carry.”

The scent of metal grows stronger, sharper, quick enough and thick enough to make Dimitri choke. “No one told you that you had to carry it anyway,” the ghost snaps, voice low in anger. “The dead will remain dead. Their regret isn’t your burden to bear, boa—princeling.”

Dimitri frowns down at his hands. Flexes them. The scars stretch. “But I must. Why else would I have survived the massacre in the first place except for the dead’s revenge?” The words come out easily. There’s a relief in saying them out loud, like a weight shared. He has never had to turn his thoughts into words. Not even to Dedue, though his friend certainly suspects.

The ghost will tell no one. The dead only ever talk to Dimitri alone.

“Because you got lucky.” The reply is blunt and sharp, piercing enough to make Dimitri wince. “There doesn’t have to be a fucking reason. Accept that and move on.” A chill of a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder before it snaps away, as if the ghost can’t stomach the idea of touching him. “Living for revenge isn’t worth it. You tried it once, _you utter fool--_ ” the words are spat out, regret rolled under layers and layers of spite and anger, and Dimitri gets a feeling the ghost has stopped seeing him in favor of whatever ghosts haunt _him_ instead. “— and you died for it. What did it get you in the end? _Nothing_.”

The last word stays in the air, fury nailing it in the space between them and grief painting the letters red.

Dimitri should feel guilty, and he almost does, but he isn’t really the one the ghost is mourning. He’s just himself. More than that, Dimitri chose his path the day he had crawled out from under Glenn’s corpse and saw the aftermath of a massacre. No one else had been left alive. No one but him. 

“If I can’t live for revenge,” Dimitri says quietly. “Then what else do I have?”

_ Nothing _ .

It doesn’t matter. Whether he lives for revenge or not, he will have nothing in the end anyway.

\--

The ghost refuses to give his name (or, rather, when Dimitri had asked, he had laughed in such an uncomfortable way that Dimitri finds himself regretting it. _“What does it matter? I’m nobody now. Everyone that mattered to me is already dead.”)_ and so Dimitri calls them The Mercenary. 

Dimitri’s learned to recognize his presence by the ever constant smell of blood. On good days, he smells of sword oil and forest trails, the metallic smell faint. Dimitri can never look at him directly, though Dimitri has certainly tried. All he gets is brief flashes of someone taller than him, dark hair matted and frayed as if he had just crawled out of a fight, flexible vests and armor that had probably once been colored teal. And blood. So much blood. Congealed and flaky. Bright and bleeding. Pooling on the floor in trails of puddles when The Mercenary stays still for too long.

Sometimes, Dimitri will find himself staring into their depths. The crimson red of the blood does not reflect his face, but there are images. Flashes of fire. Storm clouds and drops of rain. The body of something too large to be seen in the small puddle, but rippling with scales and leathered skin. He gets lost in their depths until The Mercenary’s growl snaps him out of it.

With so very few in the castle Dimitri can talk to without feeling judged or pitied, he finds himself conversing with The Mercenary when the ghost appears, who comes and goes every few days.

The weight of his presence settles on Dimitri’s shoulders like a comforting blanket. He should be embarrassed. The other ghosts that follow him feel more like something twisting in his chest, knotting everything in his head over and under and around until he can think of nothing more than the static of their voices blaring in his thoughts.

The Mercenary feels different, separate, lingering outside his body rather than rooting in his insides with sharp nails and even sharper words. 

Their talks are pleasant, though stilted, and Dimitri had latched on to them for a distraction like a man dying of thirst. Or, more accurately, of a boy craving for silence. The Mercenary’s presence made the screaming of the other ghosts fade away. Compared to the ghosts constantly scraping his flaws into his ear, The Mercenary’s quiet grumblings and stiff responses were a relief.

“How did you die?” Dimitri asks one night, when the nightmares had come again and the blizzard outside trapped him in his room. He feels restless. An energy in his bones he can’t shake off his limbs like he usually can in the training grounds.

“I kept fighting,” The Mercenary answers between the soft _shing_ of his whetstone grinding against a sword Dimitri wishes to see but can’t. “I didn’t know how to stop.”

“Didn’t?”

“Yes.” Slowly, grudgingly, he continues. “Just as well. I did not want to see who I was beyond it. Who am I, beyond a sword? A weapon? A warm body to be thrown to the wolves?” He laughs bitterly. “I thought death would be a reprieve when it finally came for me. And yet I am here, my old mistakes thrust at my face except this time, I can watch you fall apart in person. If this is the Eternal Flames, then the Goddess has given me a suitable punishment indeed.”

“To be here with me is a punishment?” Dimitri blurts out, and then feels himself flushing red. The thought of his companion suffering because of his presence makes something constrict in his chest. 

“Isn’t it?” The Mercenary huffs. “Every day, I see you wilt away. Your head full of poison. Your eyes empty of spirit. You grab every instance of people helping you and yet you do not let yourself pull them closer. Dedue hovers over you like a lumbering wraith. Rodrigue fusses in both his letters and his visits like an annoying knat. Even your uncle tries, though his ‘help’ constitutes of creating bigger scandals for the court’s attention to focus on rather than having them target your grief. The outcome of his so called ‘help’ is debatable.”

Dimitri feels his throat constrict. 

“I...”

“My punishment is to watch you suffer.” The Mercenary continues, sounding tired. “Will it end when I watch you perish from it again?”

“Again?”

None of it makes sense. The Mercenary talks as if Dimitri should know him, but his words make it clear that he does not know Dimitri at all. To him, Dimitri is nothing more than one of The Mercenary’s own regrets. 

When Dimitri dies, will he still be haunted by his own ghosts as well?

“Dimitri.” The Mercenary sighs. “Are you not already dead?”

And Dimitri, who can barely get himself to eat, who has not felt settled in his own skin for almost a year, who wades through his days in a wandering daze that he can barely remember, finds himself agreeing.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Dissociation; Dimitri sad times and also anxiety; Also, some mild cussing.

Felix visits.

Before, such an event would elicit excitement. Dimitri would run through the hallways, dodging servants and knights, boots skidding on the floor as he sprinted, just to be the first one to greet his friend in the welcome hall.

Now, Dimitri takes one look at Felix and—

Dimitri is smiling. He knows he is. It feels plastered on his face, dry and flaking, falling apart even as he greets Felix and Rodrigue. Rodrigue speaks. Then Felix speaks. Dimitri can’t hear anything. Can only see the rise and fall of Felix’s mouth, the furrow on his forehead as he stares at Dimitri.

He doesn’t remember what he said, what anyone said, but he somehow finds himself back in his chambers, sitting on the bed and curling forward with his elbows against his knees, his hands pulling at his hair until it aches, his palm pressing at his ears.

_ Breathe _ , he thinks, except his chest feels small and no matter how much air he gasps into his lungs they don’t feel like enough.

_ I died for you, _ Glenn whispers. _You took me away from him. The least you can do is_ look _at him_.

Dimitri closes his eyes and bites back a sob.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, breathing harshly, his tears silent, before the familiar scent of blood surrounds him. 

The Mercenary always carries with him a certain presence. A weight in the air that settles everything in his lungs as it presses down on him. The hairs on his nape stand on end, and he shivers at the uncomfortable feeling of _knowing_ something is watching him that he cannot see. 

“What is wrong with you?” As always, The Mercenary sounds annoyed, but there’s an undercurrent of worry and Dimitri latches on to it with a strange sort of desperation

__

_ “ _ I—”

“Goddess, I remember this farce. You just up and left. Almost a year of silence and yet you pushed me away at the first opportunity. What the hell, princeling?”

“I, I’m—”

“There’s someone pounding at the door, if you’re too deaf to hear—”

“ _I can’t breathe.”_

Silence.

And then, a sigh. The weight in the air shifts, and something cold settles behind him, pushing at his back almost gently. The shock of cold is a reassuring weight on his back, and it helps him settle after a while.

_ Breathe _ , Dimitri thinks.

Despite the rancid smell, breathing gets easier.

“Can you tell me what the hell’s wrong now?” The Mercenary says, his voice strange.

Dimitri worries his lips before straightening up, wiping at his eyes. It’s The Mercenary. The ghost. He’ll tell no one. He’s _safe_. “Felix, he—he looks like—like—” Like Glenn. Glenn with the same eyes, the same hair. Dimitri looks at Felix and all he can see is the crusting blood drying in a trail from Glenn’s mouth as Dimitri had clawed his way out from under his corpse. He doesn’t know if he had ever told The Mercenary about Glenn or Felix before. He probably had. His memory has not been the best the past few months.

The Mercenary pauses. Quieter, he continues. “Alright. Alright, I get it.”

“I am--” Dimitri breathes in. “I apologize for my misconduct. It’s—illogical. They were brothers. Of course, Felix and Glenn look alike.” 

Immediately, the annoyed thrum under The Mercenary’s voice comes back. “Stop apologizing for things you can’t control.”

Dimitri shuts his mouth before another apology slips through.

He works on his breathing instead, timing it with the chill circling his back in soothing circles

“Is this normal?” The Mercenary asks after a while. “Do you panic whenever you see--?”

“I don’t know.” Dimitri coughs to get rid of the plaintive tone his voice had regressed to. Embarrassing. This is not how a crown prince should act, even in front of what is, perhaps, a figment of his imagination. He doesn’t want him to be, but Dimitri knows at the back of his mind that seeing ghosts and hearing apparitions do not give a good diagnosis of his health. “This is the first time I’ve seen him since—since the funeral.”

He doesn’t want to panic whenever he sees his best friend. Can’t stand the thought of it. He already lost Glenn. He doesn’t want to lose Felix, too. 

A loud pounding on his door snaps him out of his thoughts.

The Mercenary snorts. “Like I said, he’s been knocking for a while now.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think?”

Dimitri looks down with a grimace. “Felix... He must be incredibly angry at my abrupt departure.”

A sigh. “Just answer the damn door. Tell him why you can’t look at him or something.”

Dimitri shakes his head vehemently. “I cannot just--! I cannot just tell him he reminds me of Glenn! He will not take it well.”

“Would you rather he believe you got upset at _him_ rather than who he reminds you off?” The sharp words carry with it a sneer.

“Is it not the same?”

“No, you fool.” Dimitri feels the chill at his back fade off. He misses it already. “There is a difference, small as it may be. It matters.” The Mercenary laughs, low and chilling. “But who the hell cares? You won’t answer. You will just sit here and wallow while your guard dog drives him away.”

_ What? _

The Mercenary snorts, likely at the look on his face. Around them, the air tastes bitter. It smells like nothing, really, but the taste lingers on Dimitri’s tongue regardless.

“What does it matter? You never trusted me with whatever demons you kept in your heart.”

“But I do,” Dimitri blurts out, looking beside him despite knowing he can’t see the one he wants to talk to. “I tell you everything. You are the only one to whom I can lay down my burdens.” He _needs_ The Mercenary to understand, to see how much Dimitri relied on their presence. The Mercenary wasn’t beholden to him. He wasn’t Dedue, who likely thinks he owes Dimitri for saving his life. He wasn’t the vultures at court who would pick at his weaknesses. Nor was he one of the snakes in the dark, the people he _knows_ must be behind the Tragedy, mixed into his Kingdom’s court. 

He doesn’t know who to trust, and he doesn’t want to trouble the ones he actually does.

Dimitri has no one else, and he knew in his heart that The Mercenary will not leave him until Dimitri had paid his debt to the dead, including The Mercenary, even if The Mercenary himself did not see it that way.

“Do you?” The Mercenary’s dismissal at his confession inspires a burst of irritation. “Tell me, then. Tell _him,_ and prove me wrong.” The curtains of his bed sways despite the lack of air. They point towards the door.

Dimitri doesn’t want to. Just the thought of it sends his heart beating into a panic. He imagines it. Looking at Felix, seeing Glenn. Of telling his friend that he looked _so much like his brother_ and being yelled at for it like Felix had done during the funeral, when he had raged and raged and _raged_ at the mere suggestion from Rodrigue that he would be just as capable _as his brother_ when he takes over the role as heir of House Fraldarius.

(Before, Felix would have preened, would have excitedly swayed on his feet at being compared favorably to Glenn.

Did he hate it now, when he knew serving Dimitri would only lead to his death like it had done his brother?)

“Why?” Dimitri says instead. “Why does telling him prove my sincerity to you?”

“Because I’m him, obviously.”

Was this a metaphor? Dimitri could not understand what logic dictated The Mercenary’s statements. Perhaps it’s his own mind, pushing him to pour out what dark tar his emotions have turned into at an actual person rather than to the dead.

“Is this a joke to you?” Dimitri demands.

“What else am I supposed to believe?” The Mercenary snorts. “I hate this. I hate having to watch this farce. What is the punchline here? My life? _Yours?_ Trust me with your burdens? _Pah_! When have you ever trusted anyone with it?”

The Mercenary’s tone irks him. He did not think Dimitri trusted him, that he poured his heart out into the only place he knew would keep it safe, would keep it secret.

He stands, the abruptness making him sway before he composes himself, and strides towards the door. His steps turn small and hesitant as the beating of his heart gets louder. 

He approaches the door and hears voices beyond it. One voice he recognizes as Dedue’s soothing, low tone, the other as Felix’s sharp bites. They sound like they’re arguing. Or rather, Felix is arguing and Dedue is being a solid wall, stubborn in his stance.

That won’t do. Dimitri doesn’t want either of his friends fighting.

With renewed energy, he hurries towards them and pulls the door open.

The sight of Felix makes him flinch back still. Dimitri forces himself to look over Felix’s shoulder rather than at his face. He really does look like Glenn. The clothes, the face, the hair. Felix wears his hair in a full bun while Glenn preferred his tied up in a half bun, but from the front, they look alike. Even the glare on Felix’s face looks like Glenn. And the _clothes—_ the embroidered vest denotes him as the Fraldarius heir. The last time he had seen it was before they left for Duscur, before Glenn had to remove it in place of his armor. _Dimitri_ cannot stand the sight without feeling an itch at the back of his throat.

Behind him, the bitterness that permeated the air stops like a held breath. He does not see it, but he feels The Mercenary step up beside him.

“Dimitri.” Felix purses his lips.

“Your Highness.” Dedue nods, stepping aside from where he had been standing in front of the door. Dedue doesn’t exactly hover, but he steps closer to Dimitri, a solid presence that feels like a balm on his nerves, a soothing contrast to the heaviness of The Mercenary’s presence on Dimitri’s other side.

Dimitri nods back at him before turning back to Felix. He doesn’t fidget, but he deeply wants to. The Mercenary flicks his ear at his hesitation. “Felix I—I apologize. I had not—I was not prepared—” He trails off.

Felix furrows his brows, scowling. “Well? Spit it out?”

“You looked like Glenn,” Dimitri finally says, voice small. “Forgive me, I could not—I’m sorry.”

He ducks his head. He doesn’t see Felix flinch back as if burned, but he can see Felix’s fists clench, one foot moving back as if to defend himself. 

Beside him, the air abruptly shifts, a strangled _“Wait, this didn’t happen—”_ coming out of The Mercenary’s voice.

“Oh,” Felix breathes. Then, he lets in a harsh inhale, audibly building up his walls from what brief vulnerability he had shown. “You-- _You asshole_. Do you think I don’t know that?! I can’t even look at a fucking mirror without wanting to break it! Fuck!” The sudden fury in Felix’s voice _hurts_.

How many times has his friend looked at his reflection and seen his brother? Is he alright? Has he gotten used to wearing a dead man’s face? Is he _alright?_

All those months spent mourning and nearly delirious with grief, and he had not even attempted to see how much Felix and everyone else was doing.

“I know. I apologize. I’m—”

_ “Don’t say sorry!” _ Felix hisses. “What the fuck, Dimitri? As if it was your fault!”

Dimitri blinks. That sounds strangely similar to what The Mercenary had said earlier.

“Whatever.” Felix takes another step back, and then another, before disappearing from Dimitri’s eyesight.

Dimitri looks back up in alarm and sees Felix rapidly retreat, steps echoing as he sprints down the hallway. 

“Felix?”

“Just stay there!”

Dimitri stays, shifting his weight from foot to foot as Felix disappears from behind a turn. The Mercenary’s presence had faded away at some point in the conversation and Dimitri finds he misses the heavy aura he carries with him. It was grounding, strangely, despite the pungent smell of blood that came with it.

“Your Highness,” Dedue says quietly. “ _Are_ you well?”

Dimitri turns to look at Dedue. He cannot understand the rumors surrounding Dedue when his friend looks down at him with such soft, worried eyes.

“I am.” Dimitri smiles. Even without seeing it, it feels brittle.

“You look very...” He pauses as he searches for the right word. “...pale.”

Dimitri’s smile becomes slightly more real. “Am I not always?”

Dedue smiles back, small, but real, with only a tinge of worry betrayed by his eyes. “That is true. All you Faerghans look ill to me.”

Covering his mouth, Dimitri chuckles.

“I will get you tea. And perhaps some snacks.” Dedue inclines his head. “Will you be alright?”

“Of course.”

“What about with your, ah, friend..?”

“Felix won’t hurt me.” Dimitri affirms. How rude of him. He hadn’t introduced them yet, had he? “Ah. I suppose it would be more prudent to say that we _will_ hurt each other. Emotionally, that is. We haven’t seen each other for so long that it is inevitable.” He exhales. The rapid drumming in his chest has stopped. The confrontation hadn’t been as bad as he had thought and without the nervousness fogging his mind, it had looked like Felix was angrier at himself rather than Dimitri. Felix had always been emotional.

“Hm.” Whether he understands or not, Dedue hums in agreement anyway. He bows and leaves, heading towards the direction where the kitchen is located.

After a while, Felix stomps back into view, and Dimitri blinks at his friend, looking him up and down. “W-what?”

Felix rolls his eyes, fidgeting with the frilled sleeve of his white tunic. In the interval he was gone, he had changed into a new outfit, the colors leaning more towards white rather than the dark blue and teal he had favored, that Glenn had favored. The cut of his robes looked different from what Dimitri remembered his friend usually wore. His hair was even down, wavy and curled over his shoulders in a way both Glenn and Felix detested but Rodrigue preferred since they hated the way their hair would get in their way while sparring.

“It’s—” Felix waves a dismissive hand, face going red. “It’s what I did. Before. I didn’t want to break any more mirrors anymore so I just—dressed differently. Looked differently. For a while.”

“Oh.” Dimitri feels his ears redden. An inexplicable wash of warmth spreads over him, grateful and touched at his friend’s consideration, even after more than a year of barely contacting each other. Felix had obviously slowly moved on from whatever issues he had with his reflection, as judged by the fact that, before he had changed, he had been wearing his hair up again in a hairstyle that would surely remind him of Glenn.

The fact that he did this, for him, for Dimitri—

It was nice.

“Thank you,” Dimitri says, the warmth in his voice evident. “It had only taken me by surprise. I will try to be better next time.” Because as nice as the gesture was, Dimitri did not want Felix to change for him or to tiptoe around his needs like he was some fragile child. 

He’ll be better. He wants to be better.

Felix shrugs, turning away. His face was red. “Yes, yes. Don’t think I’ll do this again for you in the future. Come on. Let’s catch up or something. It’s been a while.”

Dimitri opens his doors wider and smiles. It comes easier this time. “Of course! Come in, my friend. I have missed your company.”

\--

In the evening, with Dimitri’s chest soaring with a comforting kind of softness brought about by Felix’s presence after having gone so long without him, Dimitri pulls out some papers, a quill, and a bottle of ink.

He rolls the quill between his fingers as he stares at the blank piece of paper.

Spending the afternoon with Felix had been... nice. Dedue and Felix even got along, somewhat, though there was an undercurrent of tension there that he can’t make sense of. Dimitri feels like he’s floating. No, that does not fit. More like he had lifted his head out of the water, a brief reprieve from drowning, though he knows he will inevitably sink back down again after a while.

But he likes this. Wants this. Felix hadn’t seemed disgusted. Or even that angry. Tired, yes, and more bitter and jaded, but he carried with him the awkward air of someone trying to reconnect.

Dimitri wonders if Sylvain and Ingrid are the same way.

He doesn’t know. He’s probably wrong, but the lightness in his chest carries him enough to at least try. He hasn’t answered their letters in a year, but perhaps they won’t mind if his replies had been late. Months late.

He can do this. He will. If he can’t finish the letters tonight, then perhaps tomorrow he can get Felix to watch him write them. If he ever falters in his resolve, he knows his friend will threaten him to take up the quill again.

It won’t be the same, nothing ever will after Duscur, but Dimitri finds he doesn’t mind.

And, he can admit to himself, he does miss his friends greatly. 

He’ll start their letters with an apology.

\--

Outside Dimitri’s room, there’s a spot in the hallway that passing servants avoid. The hair behind their neck shivers when they so much as walk past it. Nothing is there, but the general area makes them feel... uneasy.

As they should.

Because someone _is_ standing there, frozen as he stares in shock at the doors to Dimitri’s room. He remembers this. Or, rather, he remembers this going differently. There had been no reconciliation. Just Dimitri, who had hidden in his room until his visit had ended, and himself, hurt at what seemed to be a cold rejection from the boy he had been aching to see for months.

Before, when it had only been Dimitri to keep him company, he had assumed everything had been a figment of his imagination. An illusion from the goddess they had spurned during the war. 

Now, he had actually _seen_ the difference between what he remembered and what was happening in the present. In t _his_ present.

If this were the Eternal Flames, then things should have gone as they had before. It would certainly be torturous enough to watch his younger self falter and fail all over again.

But, here, he had convinced Dimitri to actually _talk_ , something he had always wanted Dimitri to actually do. That Dimitri’s slow descent into madness hadn’t caught him off guard as it did when he had been younger.

And things had gone much better than anything he had ever conjured up.

“You’re real,” Felix Fraldarius says, voice cracking in disbelief. “You’re actually _real_.”

Everything he could help, he could change, he could _fix_ , was real.

For the first time in years, Felix lets himself hope.

__

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws this into the void* Here! No more editing! No more second-guessing! Have some Dimitri getting better and ghost!Felix squaring up to be Dimitri's very under qualified therapist!  
> Just gonna end it here since it seems like a nice place to stop.
> 
> (Summary: Felix visits. Dimitri disassociates because Felix reminds him of Glenn and the whole trauma of ToD. The Merc snaps him out of it and somehow annoys him enough to give him courage to tell Felix why. Felix _gets it_ and changes his clothes and his look to look less like Glenn. Dimi is touched. They reconnect. Dimitri feels elated for the first time in ages. He tries to start a new letter to reconnect with Ingrid and Sylvain too. The Merc learns this isn't some dream or punishment and realizes he can change shit now. He is hopeful, but we all know it won't be smooth-sailing.)
> 
> \-- ghost!Felix, remembering Edelgard's war, the Church's secrets, the weird ass mole people that were probably behind everything: _"Fuck."_  
>  \-- In dimitri's defense, it's a big jump to go from 'ghost that haunts me' to 'ghost of my friend from the future that haunts me'  
> \-- Felix bein slightly Jealous of Dedue, The New Best Friend.  
> \-- wavy-haired Felix is such a blessing guys.  
> \-- Ghost!Felix, after realizing he's basically been projecting his issues at baby!Dimitri for a while: _"F U C K."_  
>  \-- Dimitri @ ghost!Felix: "You're my friend."  
> Ghost!Felix: "Really? Cuz I've got like a decade of experience that tells me you didn't trust me enough to be one."  
> \-- lol, in all seriousness, I think Dimitri _was_ getting better by the time they all went to The Monastery. He seems more willing to talk and be open to Felix and Ingrid and Dedue(his supports with Sylvain were LACKING. we been ROBBED.) But at that point, Felix was already neck-deep in his own issues that it didn't matter (watched his best friend go apeshit and never trusting his "I'm a perfect prince." persona ever again; having to contend with the fact that dimitri didn't trust him, _his best friend_ , to tell him he was not doing okay before it was too late; feeling replaced by Dedue; Faerghus glorifying his brother's death; etc.)  
> I mean, Dimitri was still focused on getting justice, but he was more subtle about it and farrr less erratic than he would be in the War Phase.  
> He only really backtracked a lot of his progress as the main story missions went on because a lotta those were fucked up. which. understandable.  
> \-- hehe. in fic, felix and dimitri haven't had their first battle yet. you know. that battle where felix sees his best friend go insane and bloodthirsty.  
> \-- not gonna write it anymore but it was a clusterfuck with a lot of yelling from both baby!Felix and ghost!Felix, with poor Dimitri (being the only one to hear them both) stuck in the middle.  
> \-- not a fun time for Dimitri.  
> \-- baby!Felix: Dimitri is terrifying. What happened to my soft-hearted best friend. my brother died for _that?_  
>  ghost!Felix: Oh fuck he's a _child_. The fuck. Who thought it was a good idea to push a traumatized kid into fighting. no wonder he went insane wtf.  
> \-- Dimitri's attachment and reliance on ghost!Felix will be unhealthy but they work through that after a while (probably years, lol)  
> \-- at some point in the future.  
> Dimitri, thinking of The Mercenary: "I don't mind the smell of blood. I'm quite used to its scent."  
> Byleth: "Dimitri, what the fuck."  
> \-- slightly sad that I didn't get to write Ingrid and Sylvain. they're v. worried about Dimitri and are elated when he finally starts writing back. the only reason they stopped was because Dimitri wasn't replying to them and they thought they should (Ingrid) give him space or (Sylvain) stop bothering him because he was probably annoying him with all his letters.  
> \-- they're kids. they don't know how to make their friend feel better tho they're trying their best.  
> \-- not gonna continue this unless inspiration strikes, but imagine ghost!Felix bein Dimitri's secret spy and information gatherer during the academy period :)  
> \-- Whether the war happens, or Dimitri joins Edelgard in her crusade, or something, who knows. It's an ambiguous ending.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! And thanks for all the kudos and comments!!!

**Author's Note:**

> (In summary: Dimitri starts seeing a ghost. Ghost actually talks back. More than that, the ghost makes the *other ghosts* go away. Relief. The ghost, who we all know is CF!Felix because the summary is spoiler, doesn't believe Dimitri is real and is probably not helping the poor kid's sanity when he calls Dimitri dead.)
> 
> Basically, this came from that one YT comment I read (which I can't find now. Ach) where it mentioned that in the CF route, it seemed like Felix _regretted_ joining the Empire. He was a mess as a teenager, and even more so as a young adult, and that led to decisions that he probably never really thought through until he had to fight his old friends (You ever just listen to 'versus' quotes between the F4 if they ever fight each other? Yowch.) At that point, he was in too deep to leave, and Felix has always been the type to commit to a decision. I can sure understand him fighting Dimitri if he deems the guy too mad to reason with, but he'd definitely maybe regret the path that led Dimitri to it. If, maybe, he had helped more...
> 
> And so this fic was born!
> 
> Oof. I've had this fanfic in my folders since October and I technically _planned_ to post it for Halloween because ghosts but *waves hand* life, ya know?
> 
> Do I have an explanation as to why Felix timetravelled to the past? No. Will I ever give an explanation? Probably not. Indulge me with my au i just wanna give Dimitri some therapy altho, granted, Adult!Felix isn't that good at it either...
> 
> Thanks for reading! You can find me at [isp-annafer](https://isp-annafer.tumblr.com/) if any of you ever feel like yelling at me about the Faerghus 4 and the like :).


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